Snafu
by abbyfillion22
Summary: Inspired by Under the Gun: This story looks into Beckett's past relationship with her partner, Mike Royce when she was just starting out at the 12th. SNAFU: military acronym Situation Normal: All F***** Up; a badly confused or muddled situation


I study myself in the bathroom mirror; turning my head this way and that to magnify every flaw.

My navy uniform is crisply pressed and hangs stiffly on my back; pinching uncomfortably at my shoulder blades. It was the smallest size available, but still a little big around the sleeves and chest area. The copper NYPD badge that's pinned over my heart shines in the morning light poking through the curtains of my apartment. OFFICER BECKETT, the silver nameplate reads; freshly printed just the day before.

I focus on my hair that's tied in a low bun at the nape of my neck. It's light brown in reality, but when it's twisted, it looks blonde. A few flyaways tickle my neck and I try to tame them with spray. When I'm satisfied, I position my hat so it rests above the bun and lower the visor so it casts a shadow over my eyes. This is so no one can see the bags under them from lack of sleep.

I debate makeup, twisting the gold lipstick tube around in my fingers. I know that 98% of my colleagues will be male. I want to be treated as their equal but not repel them by looking like a member of the walking dead.

All my life, I've been told I'm pretty. I suppose I am in a plain sort of way. I think I have nice cheekbones and big hazel eyes that I can thank my father for. Other than that, I'm no better looking than the next girl. "You're pretty" and "You're tall" are the two most common utterances from the boys at the gym and the grocery store. As if I don't know I'm tall. I don't go clubbing anymore like other women my age. I have better things to do than grind up against a crowd of sweaty strangers and get wasted.

I decide to use a tiny bit of mascara to draw attention away from the bags. After all, Mom always said that the trick to wearing makeup is to look like you're not wearing any.

Something jerks in the pit of my stomach when I think of Mom. I have a brief flashback of that night that will forever haunt my memory.

"_Mr. Beckett? I'm detective Raglan. It's about your wife…"_

I quickly push the thought to the back of my mind. I have too many things to worry about as it is.

I check myself one last time before leaving; making sure that my shirt is properly buttoned and tucked. I finger the engagement ring hanging from my neck to give me strength.

* * *

I feel like the new girl on the first day of school as I stand awkwardly in the middle of the 12th Precinct. Officers and detectives buzz around me; chatting over cups of coffee and tea. I jump out of the way of a passing cop dragging a resisting suspect.

Again, I check my watch. It's a good ten minutes past the time I was supposed to meet my partner and he has yet to show.

I think about introducing myself to someone instead of standing alone like a pompous ass when someone accidentally-on purposes knocks into me.

I turn and come face to face with a young detective with creamy brown skin and huge brown eyes. He's around my age and looks ex-military by the size of his biceps. He gives me a wide grin.

"Excuse me," he says, obviously not sorry. He keeps his hand on my upper arm for a second too long. The detective looks me up and down and I cross my arms self consciously over my flat chest. "You must be new here."

I stiffen and hope I don't come off as scared as I am. "How can you tell?" I wipe my sweaty palms on my thighs but that only makes them worse.

The detective reaches up and takes off my cap. "You don't need that," he says slyly, handing it to me.

I notice that I'm way too overdressed. Everyone else is dressed in street clothes or suits.

He's standing a tad too close and I shuffle discretely a few centimeters away as I tuck the cap under my arm. "Thanks," I mutter. I instinctively reach for my hair to fiddle with –a twitch I've had since I was a kid- before remembering that it's in a bun.

He tilts his head but I seem to have charmed him with my awkwardness because the next thing he says is, "Can I buy you lunch?"

I open my mouth to tell him no thank you when a hand clamps around the detective's shoulder.

"You're going to need a more creative pickup line for this one, Esposito," said the owner of the hand; a tall guy in his late thirties with a square jaw and crooked smile. He's got ashy blonde hair that's beginning to recede and he stands like a runner; legs apart, one foot pointed out, hands on hips, and leaning slightly to one side.

The guy called Esposito slinks away; looking dejected and the older man stares after him until he's gone. "Sorry 'bout that," the man says with a small chuckle. "You'll be getting that a lot here." He offers his hand. "Mike Royce, you must be my new partner."

I take his hand; making sure to apply the right amount of pressure in my grip to appear confident. His hands are rough and calloused. I casually glance down to see if he's wearing a ring. He's not. "Kate… um, Beckett. I'm Beckett. Kate?" I stammer. I don't know why I'm so tongue-tied. Royce is handsome in an off-limits teacher sort of way and reminds me of one of my dad's friends. He's around the same age as Jim and I can see them hanging out; getting a beer and throwing darts.

He slaps me on the shoulder and gives me a huge grin. "Hey, kid. You ready to have some fun?"

* * *

The next three months with Royce are the best few of my life. We spend hours on stakeouts and chasing down the bad guys. The greatest high there is: seeing the suspect you caught put behind bars. There's no comparison to knowing that the city is safer thanks to you. It gives me a sense of purpose in life.

Royce and I grow really close with this strange friendship between mentor and student. He's the only one that really understands me and I find myself opening up to him. He's the first person I truly talk to and get to know since… since I was nineteen. I'm not close to anyone; not my dad, not my "friends". They just don't get me and it's so hard being in that sort of company. I still keep Dad at an arm's length just in case he slips up again and reaches for the bottle. He's been sober for quite some time but I'm wary. Royce is the only one I have.

He tells me the best stories about his day as a freelance bounty hunter. You wouldn't believe the strange people he's run into along the way. He shows me the ropes and I in turn, shared my personal stories.

It takes me some time to learn to trust him, but he unravels me piece by piece. Around our fifth month together, I confess the real reason I want to become a detective so badly.

We've been assigned an all-night stakeout in front of a warehouse of interest and the sun's setting. It's cold outside and Royce leaves the heat running for my benefit even though he likes the winter. He's sipping on a cup of black coffee when I tell him.

"My mom was killed when I was a teenager," I say slowly. I haven't said the words out loud before and it's like being back at that night all over again. I push forward. "She was stabbed in an alleyway. They just left her there to bleed to death. Alone in a pile of garbage like she didn't mean anything."

I expect him to tell me to get over it and toughen up, but he surprises me. "And I'm guessing they never caught the killer."

I swallow hard, feeling the tears sting the corners of my eyes. "No."

Royce carefully puts the coffee back in the cup holder. "So you want to use your resources to solve her murder." He says it as a statement so I answer with a question.

"Do you think that's crazy?" I say, picking at the fraying ends of my scarf.

He sighs. Up until now, Royce kept his eyes pinned to the warehouse. He turned towards me and says with finality, "No. I don't. Kid… I think your heart's in the right place."

I nod and try to avoid his eye. A single tear falls onto my lap and I watch it soak into the fabric of my coat. I push my hair away from my face and turn towards the window.

When I think the subject has come and gone, Royce surprises me. "But I'm worried…" he says carefully as he puts his hand over mine, "…that you're not doing this for you. Who will you be when it's over?"

I ponder this and stare at our hands. Before Mom's death, all I wanted to do was go to law school and settle down with a nice man. Maybe it's fate that this happened because now I can't imagine myself doing anything else. So who _am_ I doing this for?

Royce pats my hand and then sits back; knowing that he has successfully planted the seed of thought. He goes back to watching the building and-just as something to do-he takes out his Swiss Army pocket knife and starts flipping it around in his palm. Royce does this a lot and he's quite good at it. It's something he does with his hands when there's nothing to say. He fumbles once and the knife lands at my feet.

We both reach for it at the same time and our heads slam together. I look up and our eyes lock. Our faces are millimeters away and before I can change my mind, I surge forward and kiss him.

A strange warmth fills me, going from my mouth, to my neck, and then spreading to my fingertips. It's like electricity and I want more.

Royce takes a sharp breath and tenses in surprise but doesn't pull away.

I plant my hand firmly on his chest and push him into his seat with our mouths sealed together. I sit on his lap, both legs straddling his waist and rise onto my knees so I'm leaning over him. His face is sand-papery with stubble and I can smell his spicy cologne behind his ear. I know it's wrong-he's nearly twice my age- but it just feels so damn good to be close to someone again. It's been such a long time and all I want is something quick and dirty and meaningless.

I press my chest into him as I open mouth to let his tongue in. I run my hands through his coarse hair and twist my head from side to side; getting into a steady rhythm as I grind against him. I feel him harden under me and I want him so badly. I tug behind his ears, shoving my tongue further into his throat and will him to come closer. He tastes like coffee and liquor and I'm hungry for more.

He's breathing heavily, gasping for breath. I move my lips down to his neck so he can breathe and I suck at his pulse point; licking up his salty sweat. I fumble with the buttons of his uniform, desperate to get rid of our clothes as soon as possible.

His hands stay on my lower back but I beg him to explore me. I want to feel his fingers on my bare skin. I bet they're tough and gentle at the same time. Unfortunately, I'll never know because as soon as the first button comes off, he pushes me away. My back hits the steering wheel and I'm sitting back awkwardly on my knees.

I move for him again, but he holds my shoulders back. "Kate," he says.

I give a small laugh like it's all a big joke. "Come on, Mike." I play with his belt buckle and try to pull him towards me.

He's stronger and resists. "Kate," he repeats firmly. "You're in a vulnerable state right now and I'm not going to take advantage of you."

Good old Royce, always the nice guy. "You're not-" I begin.

"No," he says with finality. "You'll just regret it tomorrow."

The realization hits me like a brick wall and I groan, rolling off of him and into the passenger seat. I cover my face and I know I'm crying when my hands come away damp. I try to wipe them away without him noticing. God, what the hell have I done? I just crossed the line and possibly ruined any chance of becoming a detective because I'll surly be fired on an ethics violation. This is the worst snafu I've ever gotten myself into. Royce will have a good laugh with the boys at the 12th tomorrow about the slutty officer that came onto him during a stakeout.

This is the first time I've ever been rejected by a man and it hurts. It's a low blow to my ego and it was damaged before as it is. I hate this; being told no by the only person that I have. It's embarrassing beyond belief.

"Fuck," I mutter. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Royce says. He rebuttons his shirt and crosses his legs to hide his hard-on.

I glance at his lap for a brief second before turning away so he can't see me cry.

Royce runs a hand over his mouth that's covered in my saliva. "I know I'm hard to resist," he jokes.

I try to laugh but wind up choking and it comes out as a sob. I bite my lip so no sounds escape.

He sighs and squints into the distance. "Let's just… forget this ever happened, okay kid?"

* * *

We never do bring it up again until nearly a decade later.

"Did you kill Carver for the map?" I ask.

There's a break in the line. He must be somewhere with spotty reception. "Oh, come on, kid, you know me better than that."

"I don't think I do," I say coldly. "Because the man I knew wouldn't betray me like this." He was the one who was there for me when I had no one else to turn to and here he is; letting me down like everyone else I knew.

I can tell that I've gotten to him. "I gotta go-"

"Mike, I was in love with you," I say quickly. I'm trying to stall him with my confession so Ryan can trace the call but I almost mean it.

Royce pauses. "Oh, Kate, don't." I can hear the pity in his voice and I'm immediately reminded of that day in the car when he pushed me away.

"You were the only one who understood the obsession that drove me, who didn't tell me that I would get over my mother's murder and that she wouldn't want me to do this," I tell him. My voice catches in my throat and I try hard to keep it together. My team's watching and they can't know how much I'm hurting; how much it hurt all those years ago when I was just a stupid girl with a pretty fucked up life.

"Just trying to do right by you, kid," he says softly. I hate that he calls me "kid"; like I'm not on the same level as him.

"I dreamt about you," I continue, knowing that I'm about to lose him again. "The night that I shot the guy who killed my mother… I dreamt that I was the one who was on the ground dying and that you came up to me and told me to stand up 'cause there was still work to be done. When I woke up that morning, I just wanted to call you, but we hadn't talked in so long."

I wasn't lying about that part; I really did have that dream and I spent hours lying awake; trying to work up the nerve to dial the phone and talk to him. I wonder if I really _had _been in love with him. I was young and confused then and I did like and respect him. But did I _love _him? I'm not sure I know what love feels like so I can't compare. Except… well, except _Castle_. I don't know if I'm in love with him either at this point; I don't know what to think.

"You shoulda called," says Royce. "I never forgot."

I realize he means the kiss. I wonder what would have happened if I slept with him. Would we still be where we are; with a healthy friendship?

"I'm going to catch Carver's killer, Royce," I say with a strong voice that covers up the fact that I'm falling to pieces when he mentions that day. "And then I'm going to recover Lloyd's score. And when I arrest you, you're gonna realize that what you destroyed today was worth a helluva lot more than money." I slam the phone down and bring my hand up to my mouth. I give myself a moment before facing my team.

They're all staring at me with mouths agape like I'm some polar bear at the zoo. "Did I keep him on long enough?" I say calmly.

They all jump and Ryan trips over his words. "Uh, uh-"

"Um, oh, yeah, yeah we got the address," Esposito stammers.

I nod, "All right, let's go." I tell the boys.

I can feel Castle's eyes on me as I holster my gun. I avoid his eye so he can't see my grief.

"Wh-what?" Castle stutters. "All of that was just an act to get the trace?"

I take a deep breath and collect myself. "Of course," I lie.

* * *

_And I just want to tell you  
it takes everything in me  
not to call you  
And I wish I could run to you  
and I hope you know that  
every time I don't, I almost do  
I almost do._

_We made quite a mess, babe_  
_it's probably better off this way_  
_and I confess baby_  
_in my dreams you're touching my face_  
_and saying _**"stand up cause there's work to do."**  
_And I almost do_

-Taylor Swift, I Almost Do


End file.
